Don't Say Never to Me
by Bamfderson
Summary: Kurt's tired. So is Sebastian. He just needs one more story before he goes to sleep. Warning: Character death. For Kurtbastian week day 5- Bedtime Stories


**A/N: I'm so sorry for this one guys- it ran away with me and the angst took over... This is based around the scene in Fried Green Tomatoes (which if you haven't seen it, watch it, it's a truly incredible film) where Idgie tells Ruth the story about the ducks. Spoilers for FGT and I am genuinely sorry for whatever your emotional state might be after reading/ watching; I think I broke my little sister with this one.**

**As usual, I really hope you like it, and reviews are extremely welcome! Thanks as well for all your author alerts/story alerts/etc- I really never thought people would like my writing that much and I'm really glad people are reading and enjoying it, and I can't say thankyou enough!**

**Anyway, long author's note is long, so until next time, I guess :) **

'Tell me a story, Kurt. Tell me a good tall tale. Something to keep my mind off of everything.'

Sebastian's voice is quiet, hoarse with medication and tubes and god knows what else he's been subjected to this last couple of weeks. The doctors have been in and out of the small room, testing and prodding Sebastian until he can barely move. The nurses keep asking Kurt if he's okay.

And really, isn't that the stupidest question they could ask? He always replies with a slight nod and a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, holding back the screams behind gritted teeth. He looks down at their joined hands; stares at the way Sebastian's fingers fit so perfectly in the gaps between his. He can't find the words, can't think of a story to tell good enough. The air hangs heavy in the room, suffocating in the despair and grief of it. He feels it, he knows Sebastian feels it too, but his husband is serene as he smiles up at Kurt, eyes twinkling above hollowed cheeks. For a moment Kurt is reminded of the Sebastian he married, a stark contrast to the Sebastian in front of him now, and he finds that swallowing the lump in his throat is that much harder after the realization.

'I don't know any good stories.' His husband laughs at this, his old warm chuckle escaping him in an exhausted huff of breath. Kurt tries to laugh with him, but finds that his laugh is threatening to turn into a sob, and he chokes it back, anxious not to lose it.

_Not yet._

'Tell me the one… about the lake.' He has to stop to breathe, an audible breath that is shaky as he lets it go. Kurt remembers the story; his Mom used to tell it to him when he was younger, hoping to confuse him completely. Of course, Kurt had always been smarter than that, and as soon as he had told her that she was lying she had giggled in that airy way of hers and carried on with another.

He doesn't want to tell the story.

He's told it to Sebastian so many times over the years, nose to nose on a single pillow at night, texted it during stressful days, while running a careful hand over his hair during a particularly bad hangover (although that hasn't happened quite so much since college). He _really _doesn't want to tell the story right now, so he feigns ignorance.

'What lake?' Sebastian stares at him at his; and he _knows, _he must know, what Kurt is thinking. He doesn't want to tell the story because they both know it will be the last time he hears it.

'The one- that used to be here.' He clears his throat as he reminds Kurt, his expression turning pleading and his eyes welling up, his face nearly the same colour as the pillow beneath his head. Kurt feels his own eyes filling, his jaw clenching, and has to close his eyes before he speaks.

'That was just a lie.'

'I know that, you idiot. Tell me.' A little snark bleeds into his speech now, and Kurt smiles (_One of us has a hard luck case of the gay face, and it ain't me_) and stands, facing the window as he begins, not daring to look back at his husband's face.

'One time there was this lake,' there are birds flying outside, circling together and diving down towards the ground. They're moving in patterns, together in sync, and Kurt is mesmerized as he continues 'And uh, it was right outside of town. We used to go fishing and, um, swimming- even canoeing in it.' He's forcing the words out now, watching the birds dive again and ignoring the tear sliding down his pale cheek, thin himself due to the months spent at Sebastian's side, living on food brought from the hospital canteen and Sebastian's hand in his. His hands feel empty now, twisting together as he watches the birds fly around each other in circles, as if dancing, the sun low in the sky over trees that have been placed around to make the view nicer. He is standing close to the bed, his back to it, and he feels a slight squeeze of his fingers as Sebastian reaches out to him, shooting him a quick smile.

'I love you, you know. Go on. Please?' Kurt smiles back and turns again to the window, Sebastian's fingers tight against his for a second and then dropping back to his side.

'Well, you know this-uh, this one November this big flock of ducks, they came in and landed on the lake-' And he's crying now, his voice cracking as his fingers curl and uncurl at his side, emptiness spreading through them and into his bones 'And then, um- the temperature, it uh- it dropped so fast that the lake froze right over, right in an instant. And the ducks, they flew away-' He stops, his hand rising to press against his eyes, drawing a deep shuddering breath and letting it out so heavily that it mists against the window, blurring his view even further despite the tears that he can no longer hold back as they roll down his face and leave a salty tang in his mouth. He tries not to think about the fact that Sebastian has not urged him to carry on any more.

'And they, uh- they took the lake with them!' His voice cracks fully now, his tone reaching higher than usual, permeated with a loud sob. Both hands are pressed against his mouth instantly, pressing his sobs further into his mouth, containing them for now. He can't stop his eyes from closing, however, or the impending headache from his tears throbbing between his eyes. His voice is stronger than he thinks when he finishes the story, determined to complete it, to get to the punchline. It's not even a good story, he realizes. But it's the only one he's got, the one that reminds him of a warm embrace and flowery perfume first, but then a tall boy pressing a kiss to his forehead and waltzing around the kitchen on a rainy day in September with him.

'and uh, now they say that lake is over in Georgia.' The quiet falls over him like a blanket once more.

The birds have flown away, he realizes, when the fog of his breath clears from the window.

'Imagine that.' He's quiet now, not wanting to break the still peace. He wants someone else to, and knows exactly who he wants it to be, but he knows in his heart, in his gut, that the overwhelming sense of loneliness that is at this very minutes seeping into his soul is not going anywhere any time soon.

He looks up at the ceiling once, as if daring whatever or whoever might be up there, and briefly considers converting. If he did would he see Sebastian again one day? Would he hold him close once more and hear his soft hum as he made pancakes at ridiculous o'clock in the morning purely because he can't sleep? For a second he hopes, and it feels like a prayer in his head. He wants it. He almost wants it right now, so that he doesn't have to turn around. But he won't. He can't (_Don't you dare babe, you're even better without me around to drive you insane; you'll see_) because he promised (_I don't want to be without you_) Sebastian months ago (_Tough shit babe_) that he'd survive all of this (_Please don't make me_)

He turns around and sinks to the floor, his hand reaching for the one he knows so well resting on the white sheets.

It's cold.


End file.
